Page 69 of Good Directions

“A company like Hayes isn’t going to go bankrupt because of one bad year. And even if it wasn’t for the rest of the company, and all we had was agriculture to rely on, we’ve had plenty of damn good years to help carry us through a bad one. I still take it personally. The three Ps are my life.”

“I know.”

Her voice is sweet, understanding, as she smiles at me, and I know she gets it. Really, truly gets it. The way only another ag nerd could. Until now, the only other person who has ever understood this the same way, who has lived and breathed this with me, is Cary. A man who is third generation horticulture.

Then in walked Sawyer Brown.

I wheel myself over to her, stopping just shy of her chair. There’s a millimeter of space between our knees, and it might as well be the Grand Canyon for as much as I want to touch her—kiss her—right now. But I’m also trying to be respectful. We’re at work after all.

Despite how much she gets me, how much I want to spend all my time wrapped up in her, we do have to remain professional. Some of the time.

“Just think, if we can reduce the replant cycle time by creating a less acidic process, how much more rotation you could do. These bad years might not hurt quite as much.”

“Except you apparently don’t trust your numbers at the moment.”

“I trust them. But like any good science project, it’s about replication. It can’t be a one-off.”

Smirking, I lean back, cradling my head in my hands. I can only behave so much, and Sawyer handed me that one on a silver platter.

“Which project are we talking about, Miss Sawyer? Soil…or your orgasms?”

“Soil.” Her cheeks flush a pretty pink as she struggles to maintain her deadpan expression. “Although you’ve excelled at the other as well.”

She shifts uncomfortably in her seat, turning her focus back to her computer. I can’t help but laugh, knowing just how easy it is to push her buttons.

“Since I’m excelling at that, maybe once you’re confident with your peach numbers, we can discuss what you can do for mold and my nuts?”

As far as double entendre ag jokes go, I have to say, that one is pretty decent. I expect a groan. Or at least a roll of Sawyer’s eyes. Even a you did not just say that glare. But I get nothing.

Absolutely nothing.

My joke falls completely flat, the whole room hospital still and pin-drop silent. The only movement is Sawyer’s eyelids rapidly blinking as she stares wide-eyed at something on her monitor.

“Umm, hello? Sawyer? Mold…nuts? Nothing?”

“Huh?”

She jerks her head back in my direction, looking startled. She didn’t hear me. What the hell was she looking at?

“Care to share?”

She swallows, pressing her lips together. “It’s an email from the head of R&D. They are moving up the submission deadline for the job posting. All relevant materials—resume, case studies, letters of recommendation—have to be submitted by next Friday at noon.”

“Is your stuff ready?” I ask.

“No. I had hoped to have more results from the field study here, but…I guess I’ll have to write up what we have so far.”

She stands up, walking over to one of the filing cabinets, pulling out a folder and starting to shuffle through it. All her notes are in impeccable order—I know, I’ve seen them—so it shouldn’t take her long to put together what she needs.

“Don’t forget to write the letter,” she adds hastily, looking up from the folder.

“I won’t.” I shrug.

“Did you write it down? You seem like you’ll forget if you don’t write it down.”

“I won’t forget.”

“Anton.” She looks at me like a nun scolding a schoolchild. “You promised. That’s the whole reason we’re doing this.”